Wednesday, November 03, 2010

Heartsblood and Letters to Yourself

I addressed and mailed a letter to myself today. Like actual snail mail, in an envelope with glue and a stamp and a dirty Canada Post box and everything.

Entertaining huh?

It's a personal growth and emotional recovery exercise in "The Artist's Way". Which incidentally, I'm finding really engaging in ways I didn't anticipate.

I think there's a concrete/physical/psychological element to receiving and tearing into a letter you've written yourself. That's strictly my hypothesis as to why it's an exercise. I've never actually written a letter to myself before. ...I've left messages on my own voice mail to remind me of things, but that's about as close to this (brand of) crazy I've ever come. Though I have heard it's a cheap way of copyrighting your material to mail your work to yourself, and not open it.

At any rate, it was a "letter to the editor" of sorts. Intended to defend my creativity against the enemies of my creativity. You wouldn't think one would have many enemies of their creativity. I managed to think of a few. It's all about wallowing in your own damage to find out where and how it happened. Bring on the healing. I'm ready.

I wrote Scooter a 3 page letter yesterday, and kinda finished it off today. No, I'm not going to give this one to him either. I've written soooooo many letters to him. You have no idea. He's received maybe 4 or 5 total out of at least 50 to 75. I'm not joking. As I said, they are my therapy. They allow me to say all the things I want to say without making a complete ass out of myself time and again. He doesn't respond to my letters. Not verbally, not written, not emotionally. I get no response. Sooooo... they go in a box. Out of my head, onto the paper, into a box.

This particular letter came really close to being given to him tonight. I'll have it on me when I meet him for dinner. Astounding proximity. But I always run the "fever" letters past my friend "Marti". Fever, as in I'm running one, and delusional enough to send it. She's been following the Scooter saga for well over a year now and knows just how crazy-in-love I am. And she sympathizes, though she's close enough to me to tell me I really should run or let go. As she did today, when she read this Fever Letter. A barrage of text messages and some loving advice later, I've decided I need to sit on this for a while, if only because I'm not sure I want to try so hard anymore. Really, maybe I should let things fade if they're going to. I don't want to campaign for anyone to love me. What would it be worth to win it? I say that now, but my angst will spike again and I'll be in "all or nothing" mode and licking envelopes in the name of true love. *barf*

Scooter is a train wreck. He needs me as a friend more than I need him as a boyfriend. Truthfully, there has to be someone better for me. I realize this. I can recite it with sincerity. But Fuck I love that boy. No one will ever convince me not to. Not even him. I need to do it on my own. I'm a stupid, stupid, masochistic Capricorn. Big yellow sign on the lawn of my mind... "Caution: Goats Obsessing".